


Interregnum

by snitchnipped



Series: Dichotomy [5]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitchnipped/pseuds/snitchnipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Despair is a greater sin than any of the sins that lead to it.” — C.S. Lewis.  Eustace on coming to terms with the wait to see Narnia again, with a little advice from Edmund.  Written for the 2013 Narnia Fic Exchange.  Part of the Dichotomy Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interregnum

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my beta, Morbane.

**INTERREGNUM  
** **King’s College, Cambridge, UK. 12 October, 1947.**

* * *

“How do you do it?”

Edmund paused in shifting his papers around and looked up. “How do I do what?”

Eustace squirmed in his seat.. He was not much more than a pile of arms and legs shifting around uncomfortably in the rigid wooden chair. He was definitely quite a bit ganglier than the last time Edmund had seen him. He wished he had better seating accommodations, but furnishings were scarce in Bodsley’s Court. And his bed was already cluttered with books and papers, despite only being midday.

“I—I’m having difficulties accepting things. More so than last time,” Eustace added.

Edmund’s lips twisted in thought. He shoved the rest of his papers to the side and shifted around on his chair to face his cousin. “I take it you’re referring to—“

“Yes. And I know it doesn’t make much sense. It’s been years since Jill and I returned. From Narnia.” Eustace uncrossed and recrossed his legs again. “It’s the waiting, not knowing when we’ll ever go back. How did you manage it? The waiting, I mean.”

“Well you have to keep in mind that after the first time, we didn’t even know we _could_ go back. And it didn’t help with the Professor needling us on about that, either.”

“True.”

Edmund leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “You’re fourteen, though, aren’t you?”

Eustace frowned. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I wonder why Aslan didn’t tell you you could no longer return.”

“Well, he did tell us, in a way…” 

Edmund furrowed his brow. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“It’s true,” Eustace insisted, and sat up in his chair in earnest. “I know I told you all this. He told us the next time we were to return we would stay forever. We were in Aslan’s Country, though. Not in Narnia.”

Edmund paused. “You’re right, you weren’t.” For once, Edmund had nothing to relate to his cousin regarding Narnia. It was unsettling, that. He knew that Eustace envied Edmund and his siblings’ long reign—Eustace had even said as much, once—but this was one thing that Edmund himself could not let go of. That Eustace and Jill had been to Aslan’s Country. And he hadn’t. But that was neither here nor there, and Edmund could do nothing to change that. In the years since Eustace and his friend had returned, he had learned to accept that.

“So, Aslan didn’t put an end of going to Narnia. Just His Country.”

“Exactly,” Eustace said. “But there’s still so much I want to know. While you and Peter and Susan and Lucy got to stay and explore for years and years, I’ve only had a few months. I’d like the chance to learn more, meet more people…just the thought of it keeps me awake at night. Not knowing if I’ll get the chance ever again. Outside of when Jill and I return to Aslan’s Country,” Eustace added with a slight frown. “I’m not sure why, but it seems time is slipping away.”

“I do sympathise, Eustace.”

His cousin quirked a slight smile in response which quickly returned to a thoughtful frown. The two lapsed into silence for a long moment.

“Listen,” Edmund said, sitting up in his seat. “I know it’s of little consolation, but you are more than welcome to read through everything I wrote about my first two trips,” he said, gesturing to the pile of books on the floor next to his desk. He still hadn’t gotten around to organising his bookshelf, despite having already been in residence for over two weeks. 

That perked his cousin up. “Really?”

“Of course,” Edmund said. He reached down and pulled out the three books on the bottom. “Think of them as informal history lessons. It’s a pretty thorough documentation, if not slightly biased. And edited,” Edmund added with a wink.

That brought a grin to Eustace’s face. “I’ll take what I can get,” he said, accepting the stack from his cousin. “Mind if I stay for a bit longer and get a head start?” he asked, glancing at his wristwatch. “Mother won’t be around for another half-hour.”

“Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” Eustace said, attempting to once again arrange himself in a comfortable position to read.

Edmund shifted his attention to the remaining books on the floor. The one on top was the most recent of his journals documenting his time in Narnia. It was more than that, though; this one was special. This was the journal that graced Narnia itself. 

It happened to be smaller than his previous English journals, whether by chance or divine intervention, and it had fit comfortably in the pocket of his trousers when they made his final journey to Narnia. To the _Dawn Treader_ and back. That wasn’t the only thing that set it apart from the others. The leather binding was more worn, the edges of the paper slightly yellowed and wavy. However, despite the amount of damage it had suffered, the ink had neither ran nor faded. Even with the hours and days spent in the blistering sun, over the salty seas, the words were just as legible as they would have been freshly penned in the comfort and safety of his own desk at home in Finchley.

This fact was surely do to divine intervention. 

It had been a while since Edmund had browsed through those pages. The mood to do so did strike him at times, but the reminders were also painful. Today was different, though. Maybe it was because of the comforting presence of his cousin. Maybe it was again divine intervention. Regardless, Edmund found himself cracking open the stiff binding to a random section.

He browsed the first couple of paragraphs and smiled. Edmund remembered this particular moment on the _Dawn Treader_ quite well. Apparently, he was meant to be reminded of it. It certainly was fitting.

Seeing Eustace thoroughly engrossed in his own reading, he settled deep into the leather seat of his chair and began to read.

* * *

The chisel slipped and scraped his hand, dropping to clatter at his feet on the wooden deck, causing a drop of blood to pool at the base of his thumb. Cursing, he reached for the handkerchief next to him to staunch the wound, his mind whirling with the thoughts of antibiotics and plasters and what he would normally pull from the medicine cabinet back in England in such a situation.

The rocking of the boat brought him to the present, however, and his shoulders eased when he reminded himself of the cordial. Were it truly serious, Lucy would have administered some to him without question.

He peeled back the gauzy cloth to see that it wasn’t as bad as a scrape as he thought. Edmund wound it tightly with an awkward knot he administered with one hand. He once again picked up the sword and the chisel.

Despite the slip-up, he had managed to pry a large chunk of corrosion off the guard of the hilt. He rubbed at the revealed engraving on his knee and held it up to the sunlight.

“The letter P,” came a voice above his shoulder, and Edmund nearly jumped in fright. The Mouse was startlingly stealthy at times. 

“Yes,” Edmund confirmed and lowered the sword again. 

“What does it stand for, I wonder…” Reepicheep said. 

Edmund heard an impatient grunt. He looked around the Mouse and saw his cousin crouched on the deck, leaning against the railing, his lip raised in an incredulous grimace. “For Pevensie, of course,” Eustace scoffed.

“Ah, of course,” Reepicheep said without turning to acknowledge Edmund’s sullen cousin. “Was the sword commissioned for you, sire?” 

Memories of just a couple of years ago for him, a millennium for Narnia, echoed around Edmund’s brain. “Commissioned, yes, but it was not for me.”

The Mouse ran up and around along the hull behind Edmund to inspect the tip of the sword. He delicately reached out and swept a paw down the end of the blood groove.

“Reep.”

“Yes, sire?”

Edmund laid the sword across his lap. “You said that the libraries are being restored at the Cair, is this not true?”

“It is, sire. The satyrs have been most diligent in gathering the histories that had been stashed away in hiding for so long. They strive to restore the libraries to what they were in the Golden Age. I’ve become somewhat of an amateur historian, myself, in the past year!” Reepicheep said, as he hopped down. “There are more answers than questions that I have for you since last time we met.”

A seagull cried as it circled the boat, and the westerly wind picked up behind them. The ship rocked in response. Edmund traced a finger along the engraved initial. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin trying hard to look as though he wasn’t listening in. “Tell me what happened after we left, Reep. The first time.”

* * *

Edmund set the journal back down. He needn’t read any further. What Reepicheep had revealed about Narnia in the days after the four’s reign had jarred Edmund. Reading this passage wasn’t as easy as he had felt it would be before he started, and he felt a familiar twinge of despair in his core. He gulped from his thermos as if the act of swallowing could also wash away his melancholy.

“The amount you’ve written here is astonishing,” Eustace muttered.

Edmund swallowed his mouthful of tea. “It’s been several years. I didn’t write down everything at once.”

“Still, the amount you have remembered—”

“Yes, well,” Edmund started, before clearing his throat. “That was not easy at first. The memories kept wanting to slip away at first.”

Eustace’s left eyebrow arched. “Like with Susan?”

Edmund had no idea that Eustace was aware of Susan’s limitations. He was always very careful, very protective, in what he said around his cousin regarding his sister. And Susan and Eustace had not even seen each other in years. “It helped to write things down as soon as we returned,” he said, ignoring the question. “Once the thoughts were down, they were cemented in. And one thought would lead to another and so on. I’ve since forgotten nothing.” Edmund frowned slightly. “At least, I don’t think I have—”

“Like Susan.”

Edmund paused. “Like Susan,” he acquiesced.

Eustace said nothing more on the subject, much to Edmund’s relief. That was the worst despair to swallow. He wished he didn’t have to keep defending his sister. The clashes with Peter were difficult enough to tolerate. At least Eustace seemed to take the facts regarding Susan more in stride with naught more than a wistful half-smile. 

Edmund watched as one of his cousin’s legs started bouncing on the ball of his foot. “What’s else is on your mind, Eustace?” he asked. 

Eustace let out a big sigh, looking down at the open journal in his hands. “I think… I think what bothers me most is the time.”

Edmund did not need to ask Eustace what he meant. “Yes. That is the most difficult part to accept.”

“But since you and Lucy cannot go back, you no longer have to worry about the when and where a return might happen, right? At least you have the relief of closure.”

Edmund arched a brow. “I can assure you, Eustace, that there was little relief to having left Narnia behind.” Seeing his cousin’s freckles fade into the rush of heat on his face and his leg come to an abrupt halt, Edmund shook his head. “But I know what you mean. This will be hard to accept, but despairing will get you nowhere. I should know, I’ve been there myself.” Edmund waited until Eustace looked up before continuing. “Don’t be your own worst enemy, Eustace.”

“I was a rat to you, to all of you,” Eustace admonished himself. 

“You’ve long been forgiven. You know that.” 

“But I learned not to be in Narnia. And I would like to learn to be an even better person.” 

“You can, Eustace. It won’t happen overnight, like it may have appeared to everyone else here in England. But this is also your home. You can start by bettering yourself here. Prepare yourself for the next time,” Edmund advised. “This is easier said than done, of course, but it’s best to just let things happen as they will. No amount of worry or anticipation will move things along faster.”

“You’re right. Of course.”

Edmund gave him a slight smile and nodded at the books in his cousin’s hands. “Would you like to take all those journals with you?”

“Yes! Yes, I would, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Eustace sat quietly for a moment. Edmund merely sat, patiently waiting for any last questions. 

“I suppose I should go,” was all Eustace said. 

“Are you sure?” Edmund glanced at the partially buried alarm clock on his nightstand. “It’s not quite half one…”

“Mum can be early at times. I best wait downstairs and wait for her.”

“All right, then.”

His cousin stood up and stretched out his long limbs and reached down to gather his rucksack. As he did so, the books precariously balanced on top started to slip. Eustace attempted to juggle to save them from tumbling to the floor, but missed. With a curse he stooped to gather the one that landed underneath the chair.

“Eustace.”

His cousin looked up, his eyes ever full of eagerness for whatever wisdom Edmund would bestow on him. 

“You’re doing all right, mate,” Edmund said. He reached down to pick up the journal that had landed by his feet and handed it to his cousin. “Remember that. And remember you can visit any time.”

Eustace gave him a tight smile and ducked his head as he gathered the rest of Edmund’s fallen journals and tucked them away in his rucksack. He got up and looked around Edmund’s dormitory before letting out a wistful sigh. “I cannot wait to start university. Goodbye. And thanks again,” he said. 

Edmund gave Eustace a wave as his cousin exited the room. He watched his gangly cousin make his way down the hallway and round the corner to the staircase. 

Edmund was unsettled by Eustace’s similarities to himself at the same age. They both had been rather nasty pests (Eustace more so, assuredly). Both had had life-altering experiences in another world that forever changed them for the better. And Eustace was currently living through the same existential crises that Edmund had at that age (both times) that no proper, modern English boy should ever dream of thinking about. 

But there were differences, too. And it all came down to time. Would Edmund had been as aware and mature as Eustace was now, even though his cousin had much shorter stints in Narnia? And that made him wonder: what if they had traded spots, and it was Eustace instead of him who had been made a King of Narnia?

Why had Edmund been made king, but not Eustace? Or perhaps that was to come. Maybe that’s what Aslan had meant about Eustace’s upcoming time in Aslan’s Country....

Edmund caught himself still staring at the empty doorway. He gave his head a shake and turned back to the old Narnia-touched journal. He picked it up with the half-hearted thought of putting it properly in the empty bookcase, along with his other stacks of books, but stopped, thinking back to something Eustace had said. 

Time. It had all come down to time. By all rights, Edmund was a twenty-eight-year-old in a King’s College first year’s body. The panic that had once been a familiar feeling in his bones at that realisation did not manifest as it once did. He had slowly accepted the separation between his life there and his life here. And he had learned not to compare the two. And he had also vowed to make the most of this second chance at life, in these, the “ever important formidable years” that his father had spoken much of when Edmund was deciding on whether to follow Peter to Oxford or to carve his own path. 

But it wasn’t the time since his former life to his present one here in England that he was still questioning. It was the time _there without them_ that intrigued him, that worried him. The time in between, between their rule and Caspian’s. And whatever had happened since….

Edmund looked down at the book, but his eyes were unseeing. His mind was focused on just a few years ago when they learned Eustace had returned to Narnia.

From the time he and his siblings had first gotten word that Eustace had returned to Narnia until he was able to privately meet with them, he had been on pins and needles. Peter and Lucy had been no better. When a meeting had finally been arranged and Eustace had come to his family’s home, his two siblings had uncharacteristically been taking their frustrations out on each other before their cousin could even get a word out.

_“What happened?”_

_“Who is this Jill who went with you?”_

_“How long were you there for?”_

_“Wait, shouldn’t we wait for Susan?”_

Edmund had had his own questions, important and relevant questions, running through his head. And he had been relentless when it came to questioning his cousin. What had happened to Caspian? And Reepicheep? Had another thousand years passed, or was it a mere six months? Six minutes? And how long were they there for?

Did Narnia still thrive?

The unknowing had been the worst. And it still was.

Edmund rubbed his thumb across the embossed cover of the worn journal. He heaved a big sigh before setting it aside and reaching for his latest volume. This one couldn’t have been more different in style and feel; the pages were white, crisp, with machine-printed lines. The glossy black cover had a gold, metallic “1947” embossed on the cover, also machine-printed. And it was spiral-bound with sharp, square corners. The only thing marring besides the entries he had written was the end of the binding wire sticking out from picking at it too much.

He opened up to the first blank page and started writing of his day, lost in his own scribbles as he related everything from when he first woke up, and the two classes he had gone to earlier in the morning. He worked in silence, save the ticking of his alarm clock, the scratch of the nib on paper, and the occasional shout of his classmates roughhousing outside on the lawn with a rugby ball. As usual, he quickly lost sense of time in his writing, only coming up for the occasional sip from his thermos of lukewarm tea or a still moment of thought. 

It was during a particularly long moment of one of these thoughts when his book was abruptly swiped from under Edmund’s hands. Before he could turn around and scold the culprit, he felt the pound of the leather journal on the side of his head.

“Did you even hear a word I just said?”

Edmund rubbed his head and turned in his seat to glower at the culprit. “I can barely hear anything now, now that my ear is ringing.”

Colin Brown’s face broke out in a wide smile and he tossed the book back on Edmund’s desk. “But I have your attention. Good,” Colin remarked. Edmund’s dormitory room neighbour loosened the tie at his collar and slipped it over his head, mussing up his dark hair. “Saunders. As I was saying, he’s cancelling on our trip up to Northamptonshire this weekend. Says he’s behind on his reading for the term.”

“But we just finished our first week! How can he already be behind?”

“Knowing Saunders, he’s probably still making up from summer term.”

Edmund cracked a smile and placed the journal back amongst the stack. “Staying behind won’t guarantee his reading will get done, either.”

“Ah, well, the bloke has got good intentions at least.”

“Doubtful,” Edmund remarked. “I don’t know him well, but he seems all talk and no trousers.”

“Then you indeed know him well, Pevensie. Anyway, I reckon we should just postpone. Perhaps the following weekend. If that works for everyone,” Colin added. “Hey, there’s some kid downstairs who I overheard asking for you earlier,” he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “I saw him get caught up in a philosophical discussion with some of the eggheads from ‘S’, and he didn’t seem to be in a hurry.”

That wasn’t surprising. The whole lot of those who presided in Bodley’s ‘S’ Staircase wing could talk your ears off over the most mundane of topics. “That’d be my cousin. He already came and went.”

Colin shoved his tie into the front pocket of his jacket. “Good, ‘cause it looks like he’s going to be there a while,” he said, turning to leave. He caught himself and looked back to Edmund. “You’re still joining us for rowing, right?”

“Sure am. Give me a few more minutes, I just need to write an entry quick smart.”

Colin let out a snort before exiting.

Edmund turned back to his journal and opened it to where he left off. He wrote in detail how much he thought his young cousin had grown not only whilst in Narnia, both times, but the time in between and after, here, in England. He spent extra time recounting his conversation with Eustace and his thoughts of going through his own entries. As he recalled his friends in Narnia, both old and older, he could not help comparing his situation as a new student in Cambridge. He took the time to write his thoughts on his newest friends, including Colin Brown, the student on year ahead of him who had immediately taken Edmund in under his wing just a few weeks prior.

“Pevensie! For God’s sake, lad, are you still not ready? I have to leave for evensong in just a few hours, you know, and the sun will only be up for so long. And if we want a good lane, we have to leave soon. Do you need me to send Saunders up to ‘fetch’ you?”

Edmund hastily dropped his pen. It promptly rolled off his desk and onto the floor. “No, no, I’ll be ready in time,” he said as he turned to face Colin.

“If you say so,” Colin said, he steel grey eyes squinted in a mock threat. “You remember what happened your first night here.”

Edmund cracked a grin at the memory of the burly older student from the first floor of their dormitory picking him up and carrying him over his shoulders down to the lawn as the first part of the “Bodsley Initiation.” It was much funnier in hindsight. That lad was made of pure muscle, and Edmund knew never to underestimate such a man, friend or foe. He gave a sympathetic rub to his knee as if soothing an old injury. “I bet I could still take him, were I to have Skarpur at my side,” Edmund mused under his breath, thinking fondly of his beloved sword from the days of his reign. 

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” he said, shut his journal with a _snap!_ “I’ll be down in a tick. Just need to change.”

“If you’re not down in ten, don’t be surprised to find your door off its hinges, courtesy of Mr. Saunders,” Colin said as he rounded out the doorway, pulling the door closed behind him.

Edmund flipped his friend a rude gesture before the door slammed shut and he bent down to gather his pen.

As he changed into his modern rowing gear, Edmund had to smile to himself. He was low on the totem pole here at King’s, in Cambridge, in England. And he was fine with that. Edmund had long since learned not to despair over that. His active time as king was long past. Once a king, always a king, he knew, but right now it was time to show the fellows in the University Boat Club how it was done. And he couldn’t wait.

* * *

“My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.”—William Shakespeare


End file.
